The Hand of Sorrow
by Artemisdesari
Summary: Set after 4.22, Cas does not escape after all. What happens to him. Warning: some torture. Now COMPLETE
1. Chapter 1

_Woop! My first intended multi-chapter fic in far too long (One Thing doesn't count, that was completely unintended.) Chapters for this one will be short, it's angsty and I just can't sit and write huge chunks of angst at a time. I depressed myself with his one. There might be a little bit of Dean/Cas in this, if you have a glass of wine, tilt your head to the side and hang from a door frame (I can't help it, it's so deeply ingrained in me that I write it without thinking). _

_Lyrics at the beginning and end of each chapter are from Within Temptation's Hand of Sorrow. I was listening to it when I started the fic._

_Reviews are loved, flames keep me warm at night._

_**Disclaimer:** I don't own the song, I'm borrowing it for my own twisted creative purposes, the same goes for Castiel and the boys. I'm borrowing them. All I own is my hug picture with Misha, it is the most precious thing to me._

The Hand Of Sorrow.

_**The child without a name grew up to be the hand  
To watch you, to shield you, or kill on demand  
The choice he'd made he could not comprehend  
His blood a grim secret they had to commend**_

Light had flooded the cramped, cluttered kitchen, all but blinding the terrified prophet at Castiel's side. The prophet who has begun to mutter and babble wildly about how Castiel and Dean are doing the right thing, about how humanity should not be damned just because a few of the higher up angels have said that it shall be so. Castiel fights, he fights _so_ hard to give Dean the time that he needs, the time to reach Sam and to stop the Apocalypse before it has a chance to really begin. He _tries_ but the sheer number of angels that have been brought to the battle, numbers that Castiel had not thought could be spared from the false lines of the front, those numbers are simply overwhelming. So naturally, no matter how desperate he is, they defeat him, Castiel has no wish to kill his own kind and it proves a weakness that is his undoing. They defeat him and drag him, vessel and all, back to Heaven in chains, Castiel thinks that is the worst of it, chains and then death, but they go one step further. They rip Jimmy Novak's soul from his battered body, a soul that kicks and screams and all but _bites_ to go back where it belongs, to help Castiel fight an unwinnable battle and once that is done, once Jimmy is gone forever, they bind him to the vessel.

"If you wish to _save_ the humans that badly, Castiel, then it is only fitting that you should _be_ as one of them," Zachariah's mocking words fill the angel's head, echoing painfully and carrying the promise of future agony and torment. With the echos of the words filling his mind and nothing to look at but the four stone walls coated in the bloody symbols designed to bind his kind and their grace, Castiel has nothing to take his mind away from the unfamiliar sensation of pain. His wrists are shackled, connected to chains that keep him suspended above the floor, the shoulders of what is not _his_ body screaming with fire and his heart filling with despair. Castiel has never felt more alone, and all because one man, _one_, asked him to sacrifice his very being, sacrifice _everything_ for him.

So Castiel hangs in his stone walled prison in Heaven, the lungs that are now his filling with blood and fluid, his breathing degenerating into the simple, laboured gasp of the damned and he thinks that this might be it, that his end has finally come. He is wrong. His superiors, _former_ superiors, do not want him dead too quickly. They want to use him as an example to the others, an example of the punishments that treachery will bring. Time, Castiel knows, moves differently in Heaven. He could have come close to his death a thousand times before Dean even realises that something is wrong, before Dean realises that he is missing or brings himself to care.

Castiel is not allowed to die, day after day one of his brethren will come, look him over and if they decide that he is too close to death, or that his current agony is simply not enough, they will heal him until the pain of living makes him scream. Sometimes there is fear in the eyes of his keepers, mostly there is just disgust. Between bouts of anguished cries and pained sobs, Castiel wonders what they were told, wonders if Zachariah and those who have sided with him have blamed Lucifer's rise on Castiel's actions alone, washing their hands clean of it even if they will never be able to remove the stain of it from their souls. When he is not thinking about the deceptions of his superiors, Castiel thinks about Dean, _reaches out_ for Dean and every now and again he can almost fool himself into thinking that he has made contact, fool himself enough that he asks his charge for help.

Eventually, his keepers seem to grow tired of keeping Castiel suspended above a trap, tire of the need to heal him every few days so that the torment they believe he deserves can continue, annoyed with the way that they keep having to heal him to make sure that the body, Jimmy's body, _his_ body does not die. Castiel feels it now, all of it, where before it was just a shell, he feels _everything_, each little movement, hears the pounding of what is now his blood in ears that are just as much _his_. He is left to lie, pained and exhausted, injured, in the cold and the damp while they try to think of his next punishment and Castiel thinks that this is almost punishment enough, except they need to make an example of him and nothing is too harsh when making an example of a disobedient soldier.

"You _failed_, Castiel," Zachariah tells him one day. Castiel does not open his eyes, does not move from the corner that he has managed to drag himself into, propped up in the corner so that he can finally breathe without choking, head tipped back and eyes closed. "Lucifer is risen and Dean is ours to command." Castiel still does not move, tries not to allow Zachariah see him flinch at the thought that Dean is once more under the thumb of the angels. It would seem that his former superior does not care if Castiel reacts or not, he is here for another reason. "I thought you should meet your replacement, and her you," _that_ does make Castiel open his eyes and he is horrified to realise that he recognises her, wishes that he did not, because she was as deeply involved with the angels who knew the truth and wanted to stop the prophecy from coming to pass as he was. Behind Zachariah she shakes her head, the superior angel does not know, does not know that after Anna had fallen, this one had become Castiel's confidant. Is so absorbed in his own private panic that he does not notice Zachariah pick a hot brand from the air, does not realise it is there until it is pressed against his chest and he howls with the pain, a howl that is quickly joined with her voice as Zachariah treats her to the same thing. It makes Castiel realise something, this is about control, this is about her not being able to come for him should the Winchesters try to convince her of the truth that she already knows.

In his agony, Castiel reaches for Dean again, only to be stopped by the branding iron once more. The fear he feels now is crippling. He knows that this will be the last time that he sees this room. That no matter what he may wish or want, his replacement is not going to be the one to save him, to help Dean save him. After time immeasurable, his own cries of agony stop, and she has fallen mercifully silent long before that, the branding iron is removed and he feels Zachariah move closer to him.

"Remember this, Castiel, this reprieve, it is the last that you shall receive for a long time." The reprieve turns out to be oblivion and Castiel welcomes it.

When he comes too, Castiel is bound to a table, one that reminds him of the racks in hell and it is not there that the similarities end. Castiel is not alone in the room and it is with another wash of horror that he realises that he knows the one who is with him, one that he had trusted. Understands now why it is that Dean cannot ever seem to trust. Castiel has been betrayed and even when the torture starts, it is that thought that hurts him the most.

_**He's torn between his honor and the true love of his life  
He prayed for both but was denied** _

_Reviews are little Castiels that fly above our heads and mini Deans under the bed. A small Sam in hand and a tiny John by the chair, a review that can show how much you care._

_Artemis_


	2. Chapter 2

_So I don't like leaving people hanging, and since I've got all of the parts of this written, I'm going to put another part up today. Italics below are a flashback, which I hate using in my writing but given Castiel's situation it seemed appropriate to use one._

_Once again reviews are love and flames are for cooking dinner over._

_**  
So many dreams were broken and so much was sacrificed  
Was it worth the ones we loved and had to leave behind  
So many years have passed, who are the noble and the wise?  
Will all our sins be justified?**_

_It is a beautiful day, in the manner that all days created by God are beautiful in their own ways. Castiel is sat on a bench, watching the world go by and silently mourning the loss of Uriel. Though now fully recovered from his physical injuries, the mental ones still seem fresh and sore, as does the dressing down he received for allowing himself to get so involved emotionally with Dean in the first place. Now Dean is in the building that Castiel is staring at and the human has no idea who he really is. Dean is in danger and Castiel cannot go to him to protect him._

"_You will not always be there for him, you know," the voice is light and feminine, but with that hardness that tells him it is one of his sisters. He turns his head, looks up at the form of the too young vessel that his sister has chosen to use. "One day, whether we win or not, we will all be called back."_

"_I am aware," his voice is like gravel, eyes staring all too intently at the man who has emerged from the building, brother who is not a brother hot on his heals._

"_You know, if Zachariah catches you watching there will be trouble, more than you are in now." There is little emotion there, Castiel finds he misses that about his interactions with Uriel, the way that the other angel put emphasis on words so that they at least sounded like they carried a feeling or sentiment behind them, even if it was all just an illusion._

"_I know." He shakes his head. "I also know that this is the first time since I pulled Dean from Perdition that he has had a good nights sleep, without any nightmares."_

"_You could have done something about that," she tells him, "if you wanted to."_

"_Do not talk about what you do not understand, Seraphiel," he orders finally, the superior once more._

"_I was stationed down here for four hundred years before we were sent to fetch him back," she shrugs and Castiel concludes that all that time on Earth could not have been good for her, even if she does not display emotions. "I have seen many things, and affection is one of them, Castiel. There is no shame in it."_

"_You sound like Anna."_

"_For all that she was misguided in many of her actions, our sister did sometimes see sense." She sighes, such a human sound but it is a fitting sound for the moment and Castiel recalls times when he has done the same. "You should tell him," she looks down at her brother. "I can help. I am good at manipulating dreams, Castiel, I am good at moving reality, I can...."_

"_No."_

"No," the word that he had spoken all those months ago hisses through his lips as he feels soft hands move over the bare flesh of what was once the vessel's chest. A soft hand that has probably done nothing more than hold a pencil in it's lifetime and white teeth flash in a cruel smile.

"You know who they all are, brother, they are your creation, tell me," this voice is young too, younger than it should be and it makes Castiel think of Seraphiel and wonder whether she really has managed to avoid the same fate that he has fallen prey to.

"No," he breathes again. "No," and the brand on his chest burns with terrible light and sears into him with agony that his very being writhes and struggles against, desperate to escape the pain that now fills a body that is all his own. Briefly, beyond the sounds of his screams, he sees Dean, sees him coming towards him out of the darkness only to be pulled back by another, the one known as the Boy King

_**The curse of his powers tormented his life  
Obeying the crown was a sinister price  
His soul was tortured by love and by pain  
He surely would flee, but the oath made him stay**_

_Reviews are little Castiels that fly above our heads and mini Deans under the bed. A small Sam in hand and a tiny John by the chair, a review that can show how much you care._

_Artemis_


	3. Chapter 3

_Told you I didn't like to keep people waiting. Big thanks out to those who reviewed, thanks out to those who have put this on their alerts and more thanks to those who read it. Still loving the reviews though, they make everything better._

_**He's torn between his honor and the true love of his life  
He prayed for both but was denied**_

Castiel is in agony, wishes that they would take his grace from him and would just let him die. That they have made their point with the other angels, that those of his kind who had joined him in the thought of rebellion have turned their backs on him and melded back into the ranks of his former brethren and kept their peace. The last thing that Castiel wants now is another of his kind to share in his anguish, the last thing that he wants is for Seraphiel to do something foolish and get herself discovered. She is the last chance that the Winchester brothers have to keep some level of autonomy from Zachariah and his minions. He clings to that as he feels the blades slicing through his skin, as his own brother, a brother that he foolishly put his trust in, does unto him as was done unto Dean, as has been done to so many souls in Hell over the countless millennia since it's creation.

Everyday they do this, play this game that has long since lost its entertainment value for both participants, everyday there is pain and anguish, torment and fear and the next day, all is healed and it begins once more. Castiel knows that they left his grace intact so that he could survive this, so that they could mimic their demonic cousins and Castiel knows that this punishment is far more thorough than that which they used the last time he was called back, that punishment that made him almost too afraid to contemplate disobedience, but not scared enough to betray those who had sided with him over the truth.

For a blissful, merciful hour, Castiel has been left alone. Alone with nothing but his pain and his thoughts, the words of his tormentor, his former brother and friend, ringing in his mind. Words that are somehow worse than anything that Zachariah has said to him on his rare visits, or when he had first been captured. These words _hurt_, hurt in the same way that the physical pain does, even though Castiel knows, understands, that they are two completely different things.

"Where are they now, Castiel?" Jael's words are still a malicious hiss, even in Castiel's memory, sounding just as they did when they first cut through Castiel's screams. "These mud-monkeys that you betrayed us for. All the weeks that you have been here, all the times that you have screamed for him," the sharp flash of a damned blade slicing into him and more, ragged screaming, voice hoarse and broken after so many hours, so many cries, "where is he? Where are his attempts to save you?" The clink of steel on a table follows the words, every sensation as clear in memory as in reality. "I will tell you where he is, Castiel, I will tell you what he is doing and thinking, if you will only tell me the names of the others who would turn from us."

"No," now, as then, the word is dragged from his lips, because as much as Castiel wants to know what Dean is doing, where he is, if he has forgotten or dimissed him, he will not betray the others who are still loyal to their Father's final, true, command, to watch over His chosen children.

"Just tell me, Castiel," Jael whispers, "tell me and I can make all of this go away. You would like that, would you not?" Soft fingers caress his, the body's, the former vessesl's, cheek, the only part of Castiel that has not been marked or maimed in some way that day. Fingers have been broken, legs are in strange shapes and stranger positions and his arms have been stretched until he had passed out. Castiel does not know where Jael learnt it all, but the younger angel is certainly creative in his methods.

Over the weeks, Castiel has become familiar with pain. This is not to say that he has become immune to it in any way, or that it has started to affect him any less, but he has come to expect it now, come to acknowledge it's ranges and subtleties. From the sharp twinge of a healing wound as his body is forced to repair itself, to the blinding agonies that Jael seems to take increasing amounts of pleasure inflicting upon him, pain has become a familiar, heart wrenching constant of his existence and he wants nothing more than for it to end, because before this time, Castiel could count on one hand, as the humans would say, the number of times that he had truly experienced pain.

The first time it was during the battle between those loyal to God and Lucifer's followers, pain inflicted upon his immortal being by those Castiel had once called brother and sister. The second time was during his battle to reach Dean in Hell and the third when Uriel tried to kill him. The fourth, the fourth time is the one that sticks out in his memory the most, because the fourth was brought to him by his own contemplated actions, daring to think that he might have been able to disobey and get away with it. Even that does not compare to what he suffers now. The fourth time was a lesson, because they had still needed Castiel, still needed him to help them to control Dean. This time is still a lesson, but it is not _his_ lesson to learn, it is a lesson to all of his brothers and sisters, to those who lurk on the edges of the battle and who chose to side with him in trying to stop the Apocalypse from happening, those that he never betrayed even when his eyes were blinded to the lies of his superiors.

He will not betray them now, not even for Dean. Dean who's shadowed soul he can see lurking on the edge of his consciousness. Castiel does not know if he is simply delirious with the pain, or if Dean's soul really _is_ searching for him. There is another with him, though, this one burns bright but marked, branded just as Castiel is, calling his name in a voice that is so pure it hurts his stolen ears.

"Sister," he whispers, grateful that Jael has not yet returned, knows that it cannot be long until he does. " You cannot be here, they bound you," he is slipping, can feel that he is as he hears the door to his dark prison open and Jael returns.

"Not as well as they had thought," she whispers, like she is aware that Castiel is not alone, "where are you?" He cannot answer, will not allow himself, cannot risk that he will betray her with information that he does not know.

"Dean!" A name familiar on his lips, a name that he screams regularly these days as he begs for the end, begs for salvation. "Dean, help me. Please, help me." Jael is smiling now, must believe that Castiel is near to breaking and if he is honest with himself, Castiel is not sure how much more he can take, how much longer he can continue to hold out. He is not certain that he has any strength left, that he has anything more to give, it shocks him, that he has nothing to fall back on and no hope to cling to. Jael slams the brand, hot, burning, white, molten, and Castiel screams, his battered throat still able to make the sound as the unbelievable pain and terror and sheer agony sweeps through him, will not let him pass out no matter how much he wants it. Beneath it all, the screaming and the cries and the breathless pleas that stumble from dry, blood stained lips, Castiel thinks that he can hear Dean's voice, shaken, concerned, angry and almost desperate, earnest in all things.

"We'll find you, Cas," Dean vows. "I swear it, I'll find you, just hang on."

The words do not give Castiel any comfort, even as he begins to lose his grip on conscious thought once again, he can only cling to one reality. There is one thing all of this that he knows for certain: he was betrayed.

_**So many dreams were broken and so much was sacrificed  
Was it worth the ones we loved and had to leave behind  
So many years have passed, who are the noble and the wise?  
Will all our sins be justified**_

_Reviews are little Castiels that fly above our heads and mini Deans under the bed. A small Sam in hand and a tiny John by the chair, a review that can show how much you care._

_Artemis_


	4. Chapter 4

_So this journey draws to a close and I have no shame in admitting that writing this caused me to shed more than my share of tears. Again I thank my reviewers and my readers, those who alerted and fave'd. _

_**Please forgive me for the sorrow  
For leaving you in fear  
For the dreams we had to silence  
That's all they'll ever be  
Still I'll be the hand that serves you  
Though you'll not see that it is me**_

Castiel does not know how long he has been in this place, does not know how long the torture has continued for. Only knows that he is not in Heaven anymore, that it would not be easy to hide him from those who would try to help him if he were still up there. Knows that Heaven would have been the first place that Seraphiel will have scoured looking for him when Zachariah is not watching. But even if she can find him, Castiel has lost all hope that she will ever be able to release him, he does not even know how well he is guarded.

Jael barely bothers with using the physical torture to try and gain information now, Castiel thinks that Jael just does it for the twisted pleasure of hearing him scream. Possibly he has come to the conclusion that Castiel does not _have_ any information to give and now this is just punishment, just a way to drive him further and further towards breaking, listening to him beg for something, for anything, for an end and Castiel knows that the day is coming when Jael will do it, when Zachariah decides that it is time for them to show that along with punishment comes mercy and he almost prays for that.

Almost, because Dean's soul, the hallucination of Dean's soul still comes to him, in the dead of night as his body struggles to put itself back together, his bound grace fighting to be released of the restraints of the human body that, were he free, is his to care for. There is shame in this, that he has been given this body that belonged to Jimmy Novak, that he has allowed it to be battered and tormented and given no thought to trying to find a way to escape on his own. Castiel is weak, and he knows that now. He is weak and he is afraid and he would rather be here begging for death than trying to make his way in the world as a human.

"He will not come, Castiel," Jael has not let up on the comments about Dean. "He cannot come, Seraphiel has him chasing shadows. She is _loyal_ to our cause." Castiel knows that he was betrayed, wonders if it was her who put him here. Heat floods his tormented body and Jael pauses in his work, looks him over with the practised eye of one who has seen Castiel on the brink too many times. "You are growing weak, Castiel," he sighs, laying aside his tools and Castiel knows that it is true. Even with the bound grace to heal him, Castiel knows that his continuing injuries will eventually overwhelm even that and whether his former masters want it or not, Castiel will die.

He wants it, but he fears it. Left alone in this place, with nothing to think about but abandonment and pain, Castiel longs for death, knows that it will not mean any form of release for him. He is as good as fallen, with his death he will either cease to be, which is unlikely, or be thrown into Hell where everything that has been done to him in this place will be repeated for all of eternity and there will be no reprieve, there will be no rest, just repair and begin again, day after day, week after week, year after year, until there is nothing left of Castiel. Just as all that he was is slowly fading in this room.

He lies, facing the ceiling, staring at the blank rock that has been his only view for all too long. Able to make out the lines of the trap above him, the one that binds all but the grace that he needs to remain alive. Jael is just as bound as he inside the circle, though he can come and go as he pleases, and Castiel knows that if he only had a hand loose, only had a weapon to use, he may stand a chance. Except that he is also well aware that he will not, he is too badly injured, too broken and he has no where else to go. He has no one to turn to and he feels sobs that he had thought he was too exhausted, emotionally and physically, to release wrack his damaged body. He wants it all to end and words ghost from his lips, shaking and stuttery.

"Dean, please, Dean," if he could bring his hands up to cover his face, Castiel would, but they are bound, the fingers broken and still he clenches his fists, using the pain to bring him back from the edges of hysteria, so close to breaking and yet he does not want to show how close he really is. Just wants freedom, wants death, salvation, something, _anything_, but this. "Father." It is a prayer, it is a plea, to an all knowing being who has abandoned him, abandoned the world and has allowed it to fall into the hands of those who would destroy it. It is the final breath of his lost faith, Castiel has no more to give and he knows that when Jael returns he will crack, he will break and he will betray those he vowed he would protect, because if he gives the information the end will come and he has that small hope of oblivion.

He is left alone for longer than usual, given more time to think, more time to prepare for a continuation of the onslaught. His conclusion remains the same, he is ready to give in, his faith is gone, his newly awakened heart is destroyed and the only emotions that he knows are fear and misery, his only hope that his death is swift.

"Please," he begs, because Jael does not bother with the preamble this time, just starts to cut and tear, an artist in his own way, "please, no more." It falls on deaf ears and he can feel the gurgling, despairing scream bubbling out of him.

As abruptly as Jael has started the process, he stops, eyes wide, face twisted in a mask of surprise and the silver tip of a sword poking out of his neck. Castiel stares at the blood that drips from the point of it, unable to believe that there is a possibility that someone may have come for him. Hears his name, the ridiculous nickname that Dean had given him so long ago echoing in his mind.

"Cas, Cas, Cas, Cas," over and over and over. A chant, never ending and cycling through his thoughts. That name that Castiel has wanted to hear for days, has long since _given up_ on hearing.

When the light of Jael's dying grace fades and calloused but soft hands fight with the iron shackles that binds him, Castiel finally takes a look at the one who would rescue him and feels the tiny, almost atomic, stirring of his faith rising once more. Dirty blonde hair, green eyes creased in anger and confusion, eyes that twinkle with an age and a horror that one of this man's years should never have seen.

"C'mon," Castiel is pulled from the table, supported by over six feet of muscle and determination, "let's get you out of here, Cas."

_**So many dreams were broken and so much was sacrificed  
Was it worth the ones we loved and had to leave behind  
So many years have past, who are the noble and the wise?  
Will all our sins be justified?**_

_Reviews are little Castiels that fly above our heads and mini Deans under the bed. A small Sam in hand and a tiny John by the chair, a review that can show how much you care._

_Artemis_


End file.
